


DAI - Alone in the Snow

by rprambles



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Being Lost, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Gen, Hypothermia, Isolation, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rprambles/pseuds/rprambles
Summary: He's alive. He hadn't expected that.





	DAI - Alone in the Snow

He's alive. He hadn't expected that. 

Everything hurting, though, that's normal. He shifts with a soft grunt and digs in his coat for elfroot, tucking a piece into his cheek. The Stone hums around him and he looks up at the grey stone walls. Some broken wooden slats stick through a white patch in the ceiling. Just big enough to fit a dwarf. He smiles and slumps back, cheek pressing against the cold stone under him. "_Gracias_."

The elfroot sets in shortly, and his leg moves with only mild protest. It hurts to breathe in too deep - bruised ribs if he's lucky. Olek winces as pulls himself to his feet. Maker, he's stiff. How long has he been here? 

A tunnel leads out of the cavern and he immediately knows that's his exit. Thank fuck for Stone-sense or he'd be terrified. He presses a hand against the wall reverently before heading down the tunnel. It winds a bit and ice has formed in places to make it a tight fit; he bites back a whine as he slips through. But eventually he feels a colder breeze coming through the tunnel. He pulls his coat a little tighter and tucks his face down into his scarf as he approaches the cavern mouth. All he can see in any direction is snow and darkness. He's already shivering and the howling wind makes him want to turn around and stay safe in the Stone.

But the Inquisition is out there in the snow... somewhere. And if he'd survived the Breach, visiting a Maker-forsaken future, and a fucking archdemon, well. There had to be a reason for it. 

So he steps out into the snow and prays to Andraste he's going the right way.

He tries singing to himself but quickly runs out of breath to even hum, every bit of him focused on the next step forward, bad leg throbbing in protest. He can barely see through the wind blowing snow in his face, even with his marked hand up to shield his eyes. His coat - the well fit blessedly warm coat - isn't enough, he feels chilled down to his bones.

He finds a sparse treeline. It breaks up the wind a little, thank the fuckin' Maker. It's tempting to hide against one of the trunks and just not move for a while. Even for just a few minutes-

He stumbles when his feet find something other than snow and pauses. An ashpile. From a fire? Long gone cold, but maybe he's on the right path. Or maybe he's missed them in all the white and is walking even further away. He shivers in both cold and fear and shakes his head. No. No he's alive, he survived so much already, he's not gonna disappear into the snow... right?

A howl makes him jump, hand grabbing for his dagger. He can't see anything in the snow. Maybe he just imagined- no there it is again. Wolf. Wolves, there's never just one. Maker, that's the last thing he needs right now. Fuck. He should have stayed in the cave. Too late now.

It takes effort to get himself going again. So he better not stop until he gets there.

He can't tell if the howls get closer or further away, the wind makes it sound like it comes from everywhere. The wind feels worse, why- the trees are thinning out, shit. Will that make him an easier target or will the wolves stick to the trees? Doesn't matter, he can't stop. His leg screams at him as he trudges through the snow. It gets deeper in places and his gear feels soaked through. He's not shivering, he realizes. Is that good or bad? 

The howls stop after a while. Thank the fucking Maker. He keeps moving, biting back pained whimpers. The wind is dying down but without the constant press of it he realizes just how cold he is. He feels numb. Ice clings to his eyelashes and he can't feel his fingers. That's probably bad.

He almost misses another dead fire, but the light catches his eye. Faint and dying, but it's there. Embers. He's closer. Just keep going. A little further and he can stop.

He wants to stop. He's so tired. Sleep sounds so good, to sleep and never have to get up again, never have to deal with terrifying things he doesn't understand, never wake up in pain every fucking day. Almost. Almost...

The white ahead turns to warm orange and he can just make out the corners of tents in the dark. If he had the energy, if he wasn't frozen to the core, he'd cry. He just stops and his legs give out. He doesn't try to get up, he doesn't want to, he just wants to sleep. 

And then something wraps around him and picks him up out of the snow. He's too numb to be scared, too tired to try and struggle. They're at least gentle as they carry him toward the lights. He's almost a little sad when they set him down. Voices talk around him; he doesn't try to understand what they're saying. He can just feel hands on him past the numbness, gently pulling away the frozen stiff clothes. 

Alarm shoots through him when his scarf comes away. No no, he needs that, that's his. He whines and tries to reach for it, blinking past the haze and frost in his eyes. He can't understand what they're saying, can barely make them out, but he knows them. He's safe with them. They'll give it back.

Exhaustion rushes back over him and he doesn't fight it anymore.


End file.
